


Collars

by CasusFere



Series: Warden [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Blast Off does not like people, Defection, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Vortex is a bad guy, Vortex is his own warning, faction switch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Combaticon's second attempt to overthrow the Decepticon leadership, Megatron had Shockwave insert a "Loyalty program" into their code to insure their continued obedience. When Onslaught is captured in battle, the Autobots discover the program. Now, for the first time since the Detention Center, the Combaticons may have a say in their own fate - provided Onslaught can keep Vortex on a leash, stop Swindle from selling the minibots on the black market, prevent any Brawl-related explosions, and keep Blast Off from shooting all these Autobots who won't <i>stop talking to him.</i></p><p>While this fic takes place in the Warden universe and references the events of previous fics, knowledge of previous fics is not necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Collar Program

_Frag,_ the mech was big. He wasn't the largest mech to ever reside in the Autobot brig, but seekers and shuttles one generally _expected_ to be massive. This was a grounder, a wheeled truck, even. Slag, Bumblebee'd expected the mech to be more the size of Optimus Prime, who was big enough, but Onslaught would have towered over Optimus if he'd been standing instead of slumped unconscious on the brig floor.

Frankly, Bumblebee wasn't sure how they'd managed to get the mech into Skyfire's hold. Inferno, maybe, but geeze, he was pretty sure the Decepticon outweighed him, too. First Aid and Ratchet looked more like minibots when they'd made sure Onslaught wouldn't bleed out on the decking, and disabled his comms and integrated weaponry. There was a great deal of the last, too; the pile of ammunition was bigger than Ratchet.

Right now, First Aid was leaning over the unconscious mech, running a scan to check for processor and databank damage. Energy bars were down; Ratchet said there was no danger of the mech waking early. Bumblebee could believe it. Downing Onslaught hadn't been easy, and the Decepticon's armor was covered in scorches, dents, and jagged rents, liberally splattered with drying energon. The lines had been clamped or spliced, and Ratchet said Onslaught was in no danger, but _frag_ it looked bad. He didn't normally feel sympathy for Decepticons, but... ow.

First Aid straightened suddenly, looking over his shoulder at Ratchet. “Hey, Boss...”

“Find something?” Ratchet asked, coming over.

“I don't know, I mean yes, I did, but I'm not sure what...”

“Sector damage? File corruption?” Ratchet asked, taking the scanner.

First Aid shook his head. “No, it's not damage, not really. It's code. I've just never seen anything like it...”

“Older models often have custom programming,” Ratchet said, scrolling down the code. “The Combaticons are Golden-Age era mechs-” he stopped, frowning. “What the frag?”

“What is it?” First Aid asked.

“I'm not sure. We'll copy an image and go through it back at the medbay.” He disconnected the scanner, motioning First Aid out of the cell. “Go ahead and activate the bars,” he told Bumblebee, as he followed the Protectobot out. “He should be online before sunrise, but he'll be groggy. We've got a partial pain block on him that'll slow down his processors.”

Bumblebee nodded, but couldn't resist asking curiously, “Only partial? All that looks really painful.”

Ratchet gave him an amused look. “A little pain will hopefully keep him from damaging himself any further. And, in my experience, Decepticons don't appreciate full pain blocks.”

Bumblebee looked back at Onslaught's battered form and winced. “Decepticons are weird,” he said.

Ratchet chuckled, patting the minibot's shoulder. “Yes, they are. Comm me if anything changes.”

“You got it,” Bumblebee answered cheerfully.

x-x-x

“What am I looking at?” Optimus Prime frowned behind his battlemask at the scrolling code.

“It's a collar program,” Ratchet said tiredly. “First Aid found it while we were checking Onslaught's processors for damage.”

“A collar program?” Prowl leaned forward. “Put there by whom?”

“I'm sorry, but what's a collar program?” Silverbolt looked confused.

“It's a control mechanism,” Smokescreen answered, tapping the datapad in front of him thoughtfully. “They've been illegal on Cybertron since the Quintessons. They're used by slavers.”

“Logs indicate it was added just after that mess on Cybertron, when his team decided they'd like to kill us and Megatron both.” Ratchet shook his head. “Apparently Megatron thought they needed to be good little Decepticons.”

“That does explain a great deal,” Prowl commented. “We knew something had happened between the Combaticons and Megatron.”

“One minutes he's executin' them, the next they're back and steppin' and fetchin' like nothing happened,” Ironhide growled.

“Can we remove it?” Perceptor asked.

“Do we want to?” Ironhide shook his head. “We all remember what happened last time they had free rein.”

“It's an insidious program,” Ratchet said grimly. “Almost a deep reprogram. It's bound up in so many function that we'd have to wipe his processors to remove it.” He hesitated. “I don't like leaving it in,” he said, heavily. “It doesn't prevent disloyalty, it punishes it.”

“It tortures them,” First Aid corrected. Ratchet put a hand on the Protectobot's shoulder, but didn't disagree.

Silence fell as the others considered that.

“Can we alter the code?” Smokescreen asked suddenly. “Change who he's loyal to?”

“Altering the program's focus won't be difficult,” Ratchet allowed. “It seems designed to accept changes in leadership, even faction.”

“That's different,” Perceptor said, considering. “The robosmasher had no such protocols.”

“Robosmasher actually _did_ a reprogram,” Ratchet said. “This leaves personality intact, but exerts outside constraints on behavior.”

“Explain these outside constraints,” Prowl requested.

“Instead of altering cognitive processes, it creates negative feedback for disobedient or disloyal thought and actions,” Ratchet said grimly. “It's kind of like a shockstick mounted on his central processor.”

 _“Damn,”_ Smokescreen said with a wince.

“Can we bypass the programming by designating no one as the leader?” Prime asked.

“No, absolutely not, and we can't designate himself, either. It'd cause cascading failures that would wipe out his central functions and brick his processors.” Ratchet vented a sigh. “Comparing the code to the triplechanger's software, I'm pretty sure that it's Shockwave's handiwork. He seems to have designed it to follow the inheritance of the command structure – or be altered by a third party.”

“Himself,” Smokescreen guessed.

“That's my thought,” Ratchet agreed. He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to suggest the next part. “He has to follow someone, but the collar program doesn't care who...” he trailed off, obviously uncomfortable.

“We're talking about slavery,” Trailbreaker broke in, speaking up for the first time.

“We didn't install the program,” Smokescreen said. “And we can't get rid of it. Frankly, forcing him to switch sides might be the kindest thing we can do.”

“Shootin' him might be kinder,” Ironhide growled.

“We don't execute prisoners,” Silverbolt objected.

“We also don't condone slavery.” Trailbreaker shoved the datapad away.

“Condone or not, it's done,” Red Alert said from the end of the table, optics still focused on his own datapad, scanning through the program line by line. “That isn't the issue. My question is – were we to go through with this, could we ever really trust him? Yes, the program punishes disloyalty, but that doesn't follow that it prevents it.”

“And he'll hate us for it,” Trailbreaker said quietly.

 _“They_ will,” Ironhide said. “He ain't the only mech on the team, and you can bet all of 'em have the same program.” His engine growled. “Y'all prepared to be on the same side as Vortex?”

“Worry about Vortex when we actually have him,” Smokescreen said. “Can we in good conscience send him back to Megatron? We can be certain he _is_ abusing his power over them.”

“Why change the program at all?” Silverbolt said, reasonably. “We have him in the brig. Place him in stasis and remove him from the war entirely.”

“Ideally, yes, that would be a good solution,” Prowl said, venting a sigh. “But as high-ranking as Onslaught is, we can be certain that Megatron will take steps to secure his return. And if Megatron doesn't, Onslaught's team will.”

“Hostages,” Smokescreen translated. “On Earth, the humans make easy targets, and the Decepticons won't hesitate to use them.” The diversionary tactician drummed his fingers on the table. “Does Megatron even know we have him?”

“How could he not?” Silverbolt asked, confused. “His gestalt-”

“Hate Megatron,” Trailbreaker broke in. “And the feeling's mutual, from what we've seen. Smokescreen may be right; they hold a separate base and collar program or not, it's possible that the Combaticons haven't notified Decepticon Command that Onslaught's missing yet.”

“How does that help us?” Red Alert asked, doors flicking in irritation. “When he finds out, we're at the same place.”

“It gives us time to decide the right route to take,” Ratchet said.

“How do we do that?” First Aid looked uncomfortable.

“We ask him,” Prime said, pushing himself to his feet. “Ratchet, once you've made the change, can you change it back?”

“Sure.”

“Then do it. We'll let Onslaught choose who he wishes to serve.”

x-x-x

Onslaught woke to pain, but not nearly as much as he'd expected. His visual field was orange plating and scrolling damage reports. His injuries had been patched, but not fully repaired. Not Hook, then. The plating ruled out both Combaticon HQ and the Nemesis. He huffed air through dented intakes. Being captured by Autobots was so... undignified.

He rolled over and pushed himself up, careful to not strain his repaired lines, and turned to face the bars and his captors. The Autobot leader was waiting for him, with two of his medics, his primary tactician, and several others Onslaught didn't recognize by sight.

“Onslaught,” Prime greeted him gravely.

“Prime,” he ground out, taking in the situation.

The Autobot medical officer stepped up to the bars, giving Onslaught a close visual check. “Any leaks? Need me to up the pain block?”

Onslaught's engine rumbled at that, but he didn't dignify the offer with a verbal answer. After a moment, Ratchet nodded and stepped back, looking to the Autobot leader.

“Our medics performed a deep scan of your processors. I assume that you don't need to be told what they found.” Prime sounded grim.

 _Loyalty program,_ Onslaught guessed. Would the Autobots remove it-? He snorted, shaking his head against the stab of pain in his processors, the collar program's safeguard against its own removal.

“We can't eliminate it,” Prime continued, stomping out the hope before it could really form. “We do, however, have a number of options to offer you.”

To offer him? Onslaught tilted his head, considering. “I'm listening,” he rumbled, bracing himself against the anticipated pain.

“I would prefer to not do this with bars between us,” Prime said, nodding to the mech at the controls.

The bars faded out, and Onslaught made a quick calculation. He took a step forward, then allowed himself to stumble. The young Protectobot medic reacted predictably, moving to help – and bringing himself into reach. Onslaught caught his balance easily and lashed out, quicker than the Autobots could have expected, grabbing First Aid by the head with fingers digging into throat and battlemask.

“Let him go!” Prime thundered as the Autobots went for weapons. Onslaught could have laughed.

Except as his grip tightened, the familiar pain exploded, his fuel pumps lurching sickeningly. His vocalizer crackled, slurring a startled exclamation into an agonized buzz.

He let go of the Autobot, stumbling back and shaking his head against the pain. First Aid scrambled out of reach, helm and battlemask scored from Onslaught's grip.

Onslaught held himself still, waiting for his racing fuel pump to slow and the pain to subside. _What the frag?_ “What did you do?” he said hoarsely when his vocalizer would cooperate. That had been the loyalty program – nothing felt quite like the hated code Shockwave had buried in his processors. The Autobots had obviously found a way to use the program.

The Autobots looked as shaken as he felt. He almost snorted at them. What had they expected?

“We cannot get rid of the program,” Prime repeated, clearing his vents. “But we can alter it. Shockwave designed it so leadership could be transferred-”

“You transferred it to you,” Onslaught concluded, keeping his voice even despite the warning crackle of pain from the loyalty programming. The program didn't like insubordination.

Prime sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. Onslaught noted the change with interest. “Yes, temporarily. I thought it would make this conversation easier, if you were not compelled to swear allegiance to Megatron.”

“Instead, I am forced to swear it to you?”

Prime looked tired. “No. I wish you to answer honestly – We cannot release you. But we can alter the program to adhere to anyone you choose.”

Onslaught's optics narrowed behind his battlemask. “Why would you?”

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,” Prime told him. “It's more than a slogan, Onslaught.”

Onslaught shook his head, pacing the length of the cell. “You aren't offering freedom,” he growled.

Prime sighed. “No, we aren't. But we you offer what freedom we can.”

“What about my team?” Onslaught demanded.

The Autobot leader hesitated. “If we reach them, I will offer them the same choice.”

“If?” Onslaught growled.

“We'll just invite them over for high grade and make the offer.” Ratchet snorted, looking up from the damage to First Aid's helm. “I'm sure they'd go for that.”

 _You'd be surprised,_ Onslaught thought with dark humor. He could just see Vortex and Swindle taking them up on that.

“Capturing them, especially with them on the alert with the loss of their commander, is not feasible,” Prowl said.

“Then they die,” Onslaught said flatly. The loyalty programming didn't like the ripple of discomfort that caused in the Autobots, but the feedback stayed a steady uncomfortable burn in his processors. _Prime demanded honesty,_ he thought savagely, and the feedback slacked off to a low buzz.

“Even Megatron wouldn't-” one of the Autobots started, one Onslaught didn't know.

“You have no idea what Megatron is capable of,” Onslaught snarled. “He will execute them the moment he realizes he no longer has Bruticus, and they won't even have a chance to fight back.” If it he had been faced with Decepticons, he never would have admitted that, but Autobot morality would keep them from taking advantage. To a Decepticon, it would be a clever way of taking out enemy combatants, but to an Autobot, it would be murder. “If he doesn't order them to kill each other.”

“They wouldn't...” First Aid protested. He ducked behind Ratchet's shoulder when Onslaught turned to look at him.

“They won't have a choice,” Onslaught ground out.

“Then it's all or none,” Prime said. “We will find a way.”

“I haven't agreed yet, Prime.” Onslaught shook his head, venting air in a hiss.

“I'm willing to offer a certain concessions to you, and to your team,” Prime said. “I am aware that members of your team have committed a number of crimes,” his voice became dry, “Undoubtedly more than we're aware of.”

Onslaught glanced his way, but gave no sign either way, continuing to pace the length of the open cell.

“Neither you nor your team will be punished for what you've done before now,” Prime said, ignoring the unhappy shifting and muttering from the Autobots around him. “That said, the members of your team _will_ be held accountable for their actions from here out, as any Autobot is.”

His team, Autobots. It took a conscious effort to not laugh at the idea. Undoubtedly Vortex would be ecstatic at the opportunity.

“If you object to fighting your former comrades, we will of course make allowances-”

This time, Onslaught did laugh.

Prime paused, then nodded. “I didn't think that would be a problem. You will remain in command, and your team will be allowed the same autonomy as the Protectobots and the Aerialbots.”

Even the thought of bowing to the Autobots rankled Onslaught – if he'd wanted to be one, he would have joined them in the first place. But recent orns had proved conclusively that the Decepticon Empire was dead, the dream Megatron had sold all those vorns ago in Kaon had been stamped out and tossed aside in pursuit of power for its own sake. The only thing keeping the Combaticons in the Decepticon ranks was the loyalty programming – how would serving the Autobots really be any different?

Easier, maybe, and much harder. Prime didn't have Megatron's taste for power, but the rules the Autobots demanded they live by were enough to choke a mech. Pain and humiliation with no chance of ever breaking free, or tied down by Autobot _peace._

_What a fragging choice._

In the end, it wasn't about choice. It never was. It was about survival.

“Give me my weapons, my comms, and a transport. I'll bring you the Combaticons.”  



	2. Combaticon Defection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Combaticons defect, a few code changes are made, and Vortex is... well, Vortex.

First Aid shifted, shooting a look across Skyfire's hold as Onslaught stepped in, once again bristling with weaponry.

“You don't need to come,” Ratchet said quietly, laying a soothing hand on the young medic's shoulder. “I can take Hoist-”

“I'm fine,” First Aid said, shaking his head. Bare metal glinted from the pair of deep scratches Onlsaught's attack had left in his battlemask. “I can do this,” he said, softer, almost to himself.

Ratchet had to smile. “I'm proud of you, Aid,” he said.

First Aid glanced up at him, but his reply was cut off by Smokescreen's arrival. The tactician trotted up the ramp and gave Skyfire a pat on a bulkhead. “You're good to go, buddy.” Officially, Smokescreen was along as Prime's representative. Unofficially, he was there to act as backup if something went wrong with the ever-unpredictable Combaticons. Between him and Skyfire's cannons, Ratchet felt decently secure. 

Skyfire rumbled an acknowledgment and started up his primary engines. The deafening howl dropped to a deep thrum as the cargo doors sealed, all exterior sounds dampened by the shuttle's armored hull. Ratchet barely felt the shift as the shuttle took off. 

Ratchet stole a glance at Onslaught, but the Decepticon's - _former Decepticon,_ he reminded himself- stance gave away nothing. He stood at an easy parade rest, braced against non-existent turbulence. 

_Good thing it's a short ride by shuttle,_ Ratchet thought with some humor. _This could become awkward very fast._

Smokescreen apparently thought so as well. “Think they'll show?” he asked.

“They will,” Onslaught confirmed, but didn't elaborate.

“Always nice to see a commander have confidence in his troops,” Smokescreen commented, glancing over at Ratchet.

Onslaught snorted. “I know my people. Brawl and Blast Off will come because I told them to. Vortex will come because I've been missing for a local day and he's more curious than a turbofox in a bearing factory, and Swindle...” The Combaticon made an amused rumble. “Swindle will come because I informed them that Megatron was in danger, and Swindle has never been fond of pain.”

“...I'm not sure if I should be admiring or horrified,” Smokescreen said thoughtfully.

“One breem to target,” Skyfire said, cutting short the conversation before it could go any further downhill. “I have one contact on scanners – Blast Off is in a holding pattern in high atmosphere.”

“Land us,” Onslaught ordered. Ratchet frowned at his tone, but Skyfire acknowledged him and brought them in for a barely-felt touch down.

The cargo door cycled open, letting in a brief blast of white alkali dust and deafening engine howl. The engines quickly wound down, and the small party stepped out into the glare.

“Where's Blast Off?” Ratchet asked, cycling his optics in the brightness.

“Circling down and away from us,” Skyfire said. 

“That's not a good sign,” First Aid said, giving Onslaught's back a wary look. 

“Stay close to Skyfire,” Ratchet told him, voice low. Onslaught looked unconcerned, but Ratchet didn't find that very comforting. 

Skyfire waited for them to stand clear, then transformed and stepped back to keep from looming over the group. “Ah. I think we're about to have company.”

“Blast Off?” Ratchet guessed.

“No,” Onslaught rumbled, just before Ratchet caught the whump-whump of rotors. “ _He's_ the curious one,” he finished, tone dry. 

“Hey, Boss! We rescuin' you or pickin' up prisoners?” Vortex called out, sounding equally cheerful about either prospect.

“Neither. We're defecting.” Onslaught managed to sound matter-of-fact about it.

Vortex lost a few feet of altitude in surprise before he caught himself. “Hey, when'd you get the humor upgrade?”

“I didn't. And land already. This organic dirt is bad enough without you kicking up more,” Onslaught growled, brushing ineffectually at the clinging white dust already coating his armor.

“Whatever you say, Dead End,” Vortex answered blithely, but he turned in place, seeming to consider the situation for a moment before he transformed and dropped the rest of the distance to the ground. “So, defecting?”

“Why isn't the program affecting him?” First Aid muttered to Ratchet, voicing exactly what the CMO himself had been wondering.

“It is,” Onslaught growled over his shoulder. “He just has a higher pain tolerance than most.”

Vortex gave them a cheery bob of a rotor.

Apparently, the lack of gunfire was the cue for the rest of the Combaticons to approach, landing and fanning out with weapons at ready. 

“Hey Ons, what's up?” Swindle asked casually, optics – and gun – focused on Smokescreen. Brawl and Blast Off sighted in on Skyfire.

“We're defecting!” Vortex chirped happily.

The other Combaticons flinched, Swindle grabbing at his head. “Arg! Don't _do_ that, you fraggin' glitch!”

“Just repeatin' what I heard,” Vortex said with a shake of his rotors, unfazed by Swindle's snarl.

“Stand down,” Onslaught rumbled. The other Combaticons looked incredulous. “Vortex is correct.”

Brawl shuffled. “Uh Boss? You forget about the thingy?” He pointed at his helm with his rifle.

Blast Off huffed at the tank. “Stop that before you blow a hole in your own thick head. _Lack-witted imbecile._ ”

“Who you callin' a … a lack uh...”

“A what?” Blast Off snapped, icy.

“Knock it off, both of you,” Onslaught interrupted. He waited for them to look at him again – Ratchet noticed that he'd lost Vortex's attention in the meantime, but Onslaught continued anyway. Ratchet rather wished he wouldn't; being the focus of the helicopter's stare was frankly disturbing. “The code can be changed.”

Swindle squirmed. “We're not really... Ons, we can't.”

“So what, they remove it, we join them?” Vortex asked, visor finally tilting away from the medics. 

“No. The code can't be removed.”

Swindle hissed, but Brawl just looked confused. “So we ain't defectin'?”

“They want to make us loyal to Prime,” Blast Off corrected, with only the rigidity of his stance and the clipped words betraying the pain he had to be in.

Swindle's vocalizer made a soft keening noise.

“Huh.” Vortex turned his attention back to Ratchet. “Okay,” he said, shrugging his rotors. 

“Just like that?” Blast Off snapped.

“Yeah, sure. What, you think it's gonna feel better if you whine about it for a while first?” The helicopter's attention wasn't really on him, Ratchet realized, but on the Protectobot standing by his shoulder. Ratchet scowled at Vortex, getting an almost-friendly rotor wiggle in return. 

“Why should we?” Blast Off demanded. “What can _they_ offer _us_?”

“Immunity to prosecution, a clean slate... and never having to listen to Megatron again,” Smokescreen answered. “The team stays together, you fight for us, you obey our rules. Pretty sweet deal, if I do say so myself.”

“Stop talkin', yer makin' my head hurt.” Brawl looked torn between cradling his head and hitting someone.

Blast Off was silent, body language unreadable. “Very well,” he said eventually, a shudder running through his frame. 

Onslaught looked to Swindle. Swindle gulped. “Ons, I...” he trailed off with a whine. “Frag it, Ons, it _hurts..._ ” The jeep shivered, backing up a step. “I can't do this.”

“Hey,” Vortex said, sidestepping to sling an arm over Swindle's shoulders. “It's alright-” the friendly movement changed into a grab, pulling the jeep up against Vortex's chest and pinning his arms. “Easy, Swin. We're all just gonna go back to the Nemesis and everything's gonna be fine. C'mon, say it.” 

“We're goin' back to the Nemesis,” Swindle muttered in a small voice, fans hitching. “Going back to the Nemesis-” 

Vortex shifted one arm, grabbing Swindle by the back of the neck and jabbing fingers up under the helm in a well-practiced gesture. “Aaaand stasis lock,” he said cheerfully as Swindle went limp in his arms. 

“Wait, we're goin' back to the Nemesis?” Brawl asked, confused. “Then why'd I havta get this fraggin' headache?”

Onslaught sighed, and Vortex laughed. “I'll explain later, Brawlie,” the helicopter said, shifting Swindle's weight higher.

“Are we going to have trouble with him when he wakes up?” Ratchet nodded toward the unconscious jeep. 

“Nope,” Vortex said. “He knows what's up. But if you think real hard on things like that it confuses the program, makes the pain subside a bit, y'know.” He jerked a thumb at Brawl. “Him, on the other hand, he actually believes it.”

“Who believes what?” Brawl demanded, suspiciously. 

“Transport will be more comfortable in stasis lock,” Ratchet said, choosing to ignore Brawl for the moment and instead approaching Blast Off, waiting for the shuttle's permission. 

Blast Off hesitated. “You will be staying awake?” he asked, looking from Onslaught to Vortex. Onslaught nodded, and Vortex shrugged. “Very well. Let's get this indignity over with.”

x-x-x

First Aid watched as Ratchet snapped the covers back over Blast Off's primary medical port. “Alright, start him up.” The chief medical officer spared a glance at the helicopter perched a berth out of the way. “You're next.”

“Really? I woulda figured it was the other guy,” Vortex said cheerfully. He was, of course, the last Combaticon to go under for the programming switch. 

“Smart aft,” Ratchet muttered. “Just what we need.” First Aid glanced up from the monitors, but didn't comment. Personally, he wasn't sure if it was obnoxiousness or bravado that made the helicopter so mouthy.

Blast Off came online quietly, optics lighting behind his visor. The shuttle turned his head, taking in the scene and presumably running through his diagnostics. 

“Hiya Thrusters!” Vortex called. “How's the plot against Megatron going?” 

“Megatron can go smelt himself,” Blast Off said flatly, and sat up, swinging his legs off the edge of the berth. 

“Well, that's a good sign,” First Aid said. “Any residual pain?”

“No.” Blast Off didn't seem inclined to idle chit chat, answering the rest of First Aid's diagnostic questions with monosyllables. When First Aid was satisfied, he looked to Ratchet for confirmation, then stepped back to let Blast Off up. The shuttle tilted his head toward Vortex, apparently engaged in a private conversation over their comms for a brief moment. Vortex shrugged a shoulder, letting his rotors fan behind him. Blast Off nodded and stood.

“You've been assigned temporary rooms,” Ratchet said, handing Blast Off a data crystal. “And security codes. Your access to the Ark is limited until Optimus talks Red Alert around, but a map of the areas you're allowed is on there.”

Blast Off took the crystal, tucking it under the heat shield on his forearm and headed for the door without saying a word.

“...Friendly,” First Aid muttered as the door closed.

“Thrusters? He's just like that.” Vortex meandered over and hopped up onto the berth, sprawling out comfortably on his front with his head propped up on his arms.

First Aid shook his head, focusing on the task at hand. “This will be more comfortable for you in stasis,” he said, reaching out.

Vortex pulled away, shaking his head. “No. Don't like bein' in stasis.”

“Are you sure? The procedure is likely to cause a significant amount of pain when the programming attempts to stop its alteration-”

“It already is,” Vortex said, and this close, First Aid could see the quiver of his rotors. “Go ahead, 'm fine.” The helicopter fell silent for a moment. “Just... talk to me?” he asked, plaintive.

First Aid looked over to his mentor. Ratchet was frowning, but he nodded.

“What would you like to talk about?” First Aid asked.

A rotor lifted, then fell. “Anything.”

“If you won't let us put you into stasis,” Ratchet said, no inflection to his voice. “We will have to immobilize you.”

“I suppose promisin' to not wiggle ain't gonna cut it,” he said, resigned.

“No, I'm sorry,” First Aid answered as Ratchet opened his medical port. The rotors spasmed, then went completely still as Ratchet cut power to the major motor relays.

“Alright there?” First Aid asked gently.

Vortex vented air, about as much movement as he had left. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “You're...” His voice hitched. “You're First Aid, right?” 

Ratchet scowled at the helicopter, but to First Aid, the question seemed harmless enough. “Yes, I am,” he said.

“You've got the helicopter on your team,” Vortex asked, sounding almost... anxious?

First Aid's fingers paused in activating the monitoring systems. “Yes, Blades,” First Aid said, wondering where this was going.

“Haven't seen another 'copter since before we went in the Detention Center,” Vortex said wistfully. 

_Oh._ First Aid couldn't help but feel sympathy for the Combaticon. He knew Blades had it hard enough, being the only helicopter in the Autobot forces on Earth, but Blades hadn't ever had contact with others of his frame type. To have lived with other rotories, only to wake up in a world where no one really understood your frame type... well, he could see why Vortex might feel lonely. 

“I'm sure Blades will be happy to meet you,” First Aid said. He gave Ratchet another uncertain look, but his mentor was already deep in Vortex's systems, and unable to hear them. 

“Would he?” Vortex wondered. “So, what's he like?”

“Blades, he's a goody guy.” First Aid frowned, wondering what he should say. Blades was Blades, his brother, his gestalt mate. “It's hard to put into words. He's loyal, a little overprotective... he's...” First Aid trailed off. “He's Blades.”

“I guess it ain't the best question-” Vortex cut off, fans stuttering. “Frag,” he muttered, voice strained. 

First Aid checked the monitors, registering a spike in pain receptors. “Stay focused on me, Vortex. I know it hurts.”

“'M okay,” Vortex managed. His cooling systems clicked and reset, coming back on at a more even pace. “Just keep talkin'. I like your voice,” he added. 

“I'm sorry, I just really don't know what to say,” First Aid said helplessly. He hated this, seeing a mech in pain with no real way to help.

“Anything. Ever go flyin' with your 'copter?”

“Well, not really, except for training for rescues.” 

“Don't like flyin'?” Vortex asked. There was a burr of static to his vocalizer, and First Aid flinched, watching the pain indicators climbing.

“It's not my favorite activity,” First Aid admitted. He reached out, letting his hand rest on Vortex's arm. “Tell me about your team?”

“Whatcha want to know?” Vortex's voice had roughened.

“Do you get along?” First Aid hesitated. “I mean, when I've seen you, you guys seem to be fighting a lot-”

Vortex gave a short, strained laugh. “Hey, we're military builds. 'Course we fight. Mostly we get along pretty good, but fightin' core programmin' for most of us, so it's kinda unavoidable.”

“Really?” First Aid's optics brightened in surprise. 

“Yeah. 'Sall part of the culture thingy, y'know. Autobots get passive-aggressive, Decepticons punch. Works out well enough for us.” Vortex paused, venting. “Gets it all out on the table, and then we move on. We weren't built to be a team, after all. Bound to get friction every once in a while. Y'know, this seemed to go so much faster when it weren't me.”

First Aid smiled faintly, giving Vortex's arm a comforting squeeze. “I can imagine. You're almost done. Just a little bit further. So, you like your team mates?”

“Yeah, sure,” Vortex said. His visor dimmed briefly. “Ons ain't bad for a commander, and Brawlie's fun. Thruster's a bit standoffish, but he grows on you. And Stumpy, well, Swindle's Swindle.”

“You're pretty close,” First Aid guessed.

“Eh, you could say that, I suppose.”

First Aid glanced at the monitor. “Why do you call Blast Off 'Thrusters'?” he asked, just for something to say.

Vortex snorted. “Cuz he has them, and it annoys the frag out of him,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He puts up with it because he likes 'Thrusters' more than 'Blasty'.” Vortex chuckled. “Or he doesn't put up with it, and decides to shoot me, but hey, what's life without risk.”

First Aid stared. “He... _shoots_ you?”

“Only a little.” Vortex's visor brightened, and First Aid got the impression the helicopter was watching him out of the corner of his optics.

“You're joking,” First Aid said, not at all certain of it.

“Maybe,” Vortex chuckled. “Oh. Ow. This hurts. Tell me we're done.”

First Aid checked the progress on the monitors. “Not quite.”

“Oh, _goody_.” Vortex fell silent, fans laboring.

“So,” First Aid said with forced lightness. “'Ons,' huh?”

“Or 'Onsies' or 'Onsipoo' or 'Mommy', and variations thereof. Can't let him think we're getting' too efficient. Keeps him honest.” Vortex chuckled again. “Otherwise we end up wantin' to belt his erudite aft.”

First Aid laughed, surprised. “You're a lot more educated than you let on, aren't you?”

“Shh. Don't tell no one. They might try to make me responsible for somethin'.” he said, voice faint. “Or somethin' like that.”

The pain indicators continued to climb. “What about 'Stumpy'?” First Aid asked. 

“He's short,” was the simple answer.

“Earlier, you said _most_ of you were military,” First Aid said, thumb rubbing soothingly over plating. “Is Swindle-”

“Blast Off,” Vortex said shortly. His vocalizer reset. “Stumpy's as military as the rest of us, just don't act like it. Funny, eh?”

“So how'd you end up as a team?” First Aid hazarded, casting for anything to keep Vortex talking and distracted.

“Ons,” Vortex said, and didn't elaborate.

First Aid opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to think of what else to say. Beside him, the indicators rose another notch. What could he-

He was saved by the harsh blat of the progress monitor. _Process complete._ Ratchet shifted, coming back to himself.

“You're done,” Ratchet said. “I want you to stay for a few breems for monitoring. Your systems just went through a good deal of stress.”

Vortex flicked his rotors as power returned to his relays. “'Mkay,” he said, distracted. He tested each rotor individually, then stretched on the berth. 

First Aid was so engrossed in checking the readouts that he jumped when a rotor fanned out to smack him in the hip. “Oh!”

Vortex tilted his head, and First Aid got the impression he was grinning. “Thanks,” the helicopter said.

“I didn't really do anything,” First Aid said, ducking his head. “Ratchet did the hard part.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Ratchet said from the other side of Vortex. “Alright you're good-”

“-I know, but it's nice t'be acknowledged,” Vortex interjected.

Ratchet snorted, unhooking the monitoring cables. “Great. A comedian. You've been assigned-”

“Rooms, temporary security codes, don't wander where you aren't wanted, don't hug the security bot or he'll spring a leak,” Vortex finished for him, taking the data crystal offered and plugging it in immediately. He was the only Combaticon who had, First Aid noted with surprise. The others had taken the crystal with them, presumably to scan for viruses or trackers. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Vortex ejected the datacrystal and handed it back. “I gots it, Doc.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ratchet grumped. “Get out of my medbay.”

Vortex hopped to his feet and obeyed, giving First Aid a parting jaunty wave of a rotor. 

“Well.” First Aid didn't really know where to start. “That was... interesting.”

Ratchet snorted. “You could call it that.” He gave his student a serious look. “Be careful around them, Aid. They're old, and they've been Decepticons for a very long time.”

“They didn't seem that bad,” First Aid said mildly.

“That is exactly what worries me,” Ratchet muttered. “Let's get this cleaned up.”

x-x-x

Vortex was the last to arrive, meandering into the quarters assigned to Onslaught and poking at Swindle until the other mech moved over to give him a spot on the berth. Onslaught remained standing, Brawl perched on the desk and Blast Off in the only chair.

“Alright, what the frag are we doing here?” Swindle muttered. “Us? Autobots? This is never going to work.”

Vortex patted him absently, getting a glare in return.

“Enough,” Onslaught rumbled. “We _are_ here, and that's enough. We will survive, we will adapt-”

“We will take over the world!” Vortex broke in with a patently fake cackle.

“Vortex, shut up,” Onslaught said without breaking stride. “We _will_ turn this to our advantage. We are _not_ Autobots, we are _Combaticons_. Failure is not an option. We will operate by Autobot rules, at least on the surface, and work toward the destruction of our enemies.” Onslaught looked down at his troops, and realized that the only one paying attention was Brawl. Blast Off had zoned out, bored. Swindle and Vortex were exchanging looks and hand gestures that fairly screamed that they were plotting over private encryption. 

_Insubordinate glitches,_ Onslaught thought in irritation. His engine growled, and the two plotters looked up, Swindle beaming and Vortex fanning rotors innocently. “Pay attention,” he snapped. “Swindle, you will refrain from any dealings that may jeopardize our standing here. Brawl, no fighting. Blast Off, no shooting. Vortex-” He glared at the helicopter. “I'll make a list.”

Vortex waggled his rotors.

Onslaught turned his glare to the rest of his team, who, for once, seemed to be paying attention, however briefly. “Get out of my sight. Vortex, stay.”

This time it was Swindle giving Vortex the fake-sympathy pat on the head as the others filed out.

“Soooo...” Vortex stretched out after the door closed behind his teammates, flopping across the berth.

“I need you to take this seriously,” Onslaught growled. “The Autobots are familiar with your... proclivities. One screw up from you can be the catalyst that sends all of us back to the Detention Center. The Autobots will _not_ forgive you inflicting your particular amusements on one of their own.”

“I got it, Ons,” Vortex said easily. “Ain't half so stupid as to not notice _that._ But you're wrong, y'know.”

Onslaught's visor darkened. “Am I?” he asked, voice dangerously soft.

Vortex seemed utterly unconcerned by the warning sound. “They don't _really_ know much 'bout my activities,” he said. “All they got is rumor and a few accounts outta Freemark, maybe a bit from me tossin' them around the field. Sure, they're scared of me and suspect me of bein' _such_ a bad, bad mech, but they ain't got an inch of experience with what I _really_ do. The people who do are kinda dead.”

Onslaught absorbed that, fists loosening. “What are you suggesting?”

“Just leave it to me,” Vortex said cheerfully. “Me 'n Stumpy'll have 'em eatin' outta our hands. You keep on makin' nice up in the top ranks, we'll get the lower ranks turned round.” Vortex cocked his head thoughtfully. “Won't hurt if you start showin' a fierce protective side, neither. Since we're such a tight-knit family and all just doin' such bad things to survive, but secretly noble, honorable soldiers who were punished for speakin' out against the tyrannical excesses of Megatron and Shockwave.”

Onslaught stared. “We're... what?”

“Honorable soldiers trapped in a horrible situation,” Vortex confirmed happily. Fragger was enjoying the whole thing. “Remember, protective.” Vortex wiggled a rotor tip at him. “Cuz you love us.”

“Don't push it,” Onslaught growled.

“So... suggestin' you seduce Prime is out, too?”

“Vortex...” Onslaught felt his servos tightening again. 

“Just sayin', it'd be helpful. 'Bots get all affectionate when they 'face with someone. 'Sides, I think you'd be his type-”

“ _Vortex!_ ”


	3. Plots and Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle and Vortex indulge in a little plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: casual reference to suicide, and Vortex talking about his job.

“ _'Copter inbound,”_ Vortex said over private encryption. “ _Ready?_ ”

“ _Yeah, yeah._ ” Swindle sounded less than enthusiastic. 

“ _C'mon, perk up, Stumpy! Promise not to let them hit you too much.”_

“ _Once is too much, nutcase._ ” But Swindle moved anyway, sliding over to the two Autobot frontliners with an oily grin calculated to infuriate rather than ingratiate. “Hey, guys!” He dragged a chair over, plopping himself between the twins, seeming completely oblivious to the sour looks he got in return. 

“Scram, Decepticreep,” Sideswipe said. 

Swindle held up his hands, making placating gestures. “Now, there's no call for that. We're all on the same side, right?”

“Wrong,” Sunstreaker said flatly.

Vortex waited for his target to enter the rec room before acting. He let Blades pass him, retrieving a cube of energon and turning to find a seat. Perfect. Vortex looked up from where he'd been lounging near the energon dispenser, tilting his head toward Swindle and the frontliners. He gave his rotors a flick in a gesture most Autobots wouldn't understand, but the other rotary would take as displeasure. 

“Hey, c'mon, we can be friends-” Swindle made his move, reaching out to clap both twins on the shoulder. It was hard to tell which one moved first – Sideswipe smacked Swindle's hand away, but Sunstreaker grabbed for the other hand, intending on removing the offending appendage by force. “Hey! Ow!” 

Vortex straightened, careful to keep his body language angry, but it was an effort to not laugh. Swindle was certainly capable of taking care of himself in a lot rougher areas than this, with far nastier mechs, but the Autobots didn't know that. Around Decepticons, it was rarely a good idea to play up weakness, but Autobots didn't have the elitist drive of the Decepticon warrior. 

“C'mon guys, I didn't mean anything by it-” Swindle kept up the whining tone. “ _Tex, get your aft over here before I hurl._ ”

Sunstreaker's lips twisted and he dropped a shoulder, about to shove Swindle off in disgust. Well, that wouldn't do. Vortex stalked across the short distance to the three. He checked his target out of the corner of an optic. Yep, 'copter was watching the scene with a frown. “Back off,” he growled, looming over the more volatile of the Autobots. 

Sunstreaker looked up at him, expression dark. “Frag off, Decepticon.” He let go of Swindle, standing to face the helicopter. 

“You don't touch him,” Vortex said, cold. Behind Sunstreaker, Swindle's lips twitched before he schooled his face to a pleading expression.

“Let's just go, Tex.” Swindle moved around Sunstreaker, grabbing Vortex by the laser mounts on his forearm. 

Vortex planted his feet – not that Swindle was really trying to move him. Short Stumpy might have been, but he was strong. He glared back at Sunstreaker, leaning forward in a deliberate threat. “ _Huh. I don't think he's gonna hit me. Amazin', he might have some restraint after all._ ” 

“ _Worse, it looks like the truck with the shields is 'bout to come break up the party. So much for that plan. Improvising time- Swindle to Onslaught, come break up our fake fight in the rec room before the 'Bots do._ ”

“ _...Your what? Nevermind, I was heading there anyway.”_

“You frag with my team, you deal with me.” Vortex kept his glare on Sunstreaker. “ _Okay, so I thought he was more violent. Hey, this works too._ ”

“What is going on here?” Onslaught demanded, right on cue. The Combaticon leader loomed in the doorway.

Vortex pulled away from Sunstreaker, glaring for a brief moment longer before turning to Onslaught. “Nothing,” he said, voice flat.

Sunstreaker just sneered. “Let's go, Sides. The company here sucks.”

Onslaught stepped aside to let them leave. “Vortex,” he growled, before switching to the encryption. “ _What are you two up to?_ ” 

“ _Everything's goin' perfect, Onsies._ ” Vortex looked away, rotors shuffling. The turn brought Blades back into view. “They started it,” he muttered. Swindle let go of his arm, taking a subtle step back. 

“I don't care,” Onslaught said. “I told you to keep out of trouble. Don't let it happen again. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, boss,” Vortex muttered sullenly. At the edge of his field of vision, Blades shifted. 

“You'd better,” Onslaught said darkly, then looked to Swindle, but didn't say anything further. He turned sharply and strode to the energon dispenser. _”Whatever you're doing, be careful. Our position here is not sound,”_ he told them grimly over private encryption.

Vortex twitched his rotors and turned just as sharply towards the door, stalking out of the rec room. He checked the internal map the Autobots had provided, and headed for the nearest exit. _“Relax, Ons, we got this.”_

“ _Bingo, one sucker. Helicopter's following,_ ” Swindle said lazily. “ _'Scuse me, I need to go look friendless and miserable and see if I can catch a sucker of my own._ ”

Vortex emerged on the side of the mountain, and stopped to let his target catch up. Crossing his arms, he scowled at the rocks below. 

“Hey,” Blades called as he approached. 

Vortex twitched his rotors in simulated surprise, glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh. Hi.” He went back to looking at the rocks. 

“I wanted to introduce myself,” Blades said, coming to stand next to him.

“You're Blades,” Vortex said. The Protectobot looked surprised. “First Aid told me,” he added. 

Blades frowned, optics sharpening. _Well, isn't that interesting. Protective, yes, and suspicious. Gonna be on guard about his teammates._ He filed that away, adjusting his angle of attack accordingly. 

“Well, he did when I asked,” Vortex admitted, shuffling his rotors in apparent embarrassment. “And it's kinda hard to mix up the rotaries when there's only one, eh?”

“Yeah,” Blades agreed, relaxing again. “About that back there...”

It was Vortex's turn to shift suspiciously. “What about it?”

“Your teammates probably shouldn't try to make buddies with those two. They're good guys, but rough. It'll take them a while to adjust.”

“Yeah,” Vortex agreed. “Swindle's just got the worse judgment when it comes to people sometimes.” Now _that_ was a lie and a half. Swindle read people like datapads. “Gets him in trouble.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. Y'know, I haven't gone flyin' with another 'copter since we was stationed in Kaon. Wanna take a spin? I ain't had a chance to do any explorin' yet, either.”

Blades brightened immediately. The Protectobot tried to hide it, but Vortex knew the tells better than Blades did. “Yeah, sure, I've got some time before I gotta head out for my patrol,” Blades said, a little too casually. “I can show you around a bit.”

Vortex laughed. “Then what are we waiting for?”

x-x-x

Swindle slunk over to the over-sized couch dominating one end of the rec room and flopped down, shoulders hunched. Autobots were, by and large, suckers for a pity case. The older mechs in the room might know enough to avoid getting caught up in his and Vortex's charade, but there were entire teams of young mechs in the Autobot ranks. He stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and waited.

Someone shifted behind him, footsteps coming over, and hesitating. Swindle kept the smirk off his face with effort. Perfect.

A second set of footsteps, then someone spoke, too softly to make out. Swindle twisted, glancing back – a young jet, mostly in red, nodding to a familiar shape. Door wings, racing stripes... _Slag it._

“Swindle,” Smokescreen greeted, turning away from Fireflight. 

“Smokescreen,” Swindle returned, guarded. “Been a while.” 

“Yeah, we haven't gotten in each other's way since, what, Monacus?” Smokescreen took a seat on the short table between the TV screen and the couch. “You seem to be running in smaller circles these days.”

“Less ambitious partners,” Swindle said. Frag and frag. Why hadn't he considered Smokescreen when Vortex brought up this plan? He and Smokescreen hadn't associated, barely even knew each other by sight, but they'd competed fiercely before the war and in the early days of it. How much did Smokescreen know about him? “Can't say I'm sorry about it.”

“Oh, I think they're plenty ambitious. The whole dragging-into-the-sun thing, that was pretty up there on the scale.”

Double frag. Swindle shrugged, slouching more into the couch. “Yeah, well, that wasn't the smartest thing we've ever done. None of us were exactly thinkin' clearly at that point.”

“I'd say so,” Smokescreen said, never losing the friendly tone or the easy smile. Swindle didn't believe it for a second.

“So what, you've come to gloat?” Swindle scowled.

“No, just to look things over,” Smokescreen answered. “I admit, I don't envy you all. It's a bad position you've been caught in.”

Swindle gave him a hard stare, wondering where Smokescreen was going with it. 

“I mean it. You've got a second chance here, Swindle. You and your whole team, you could be real assets to the Autobots.” Smokescreen's smile didn't seem so friendly suddenly. “Don't screw it up.” 

Swindle watched the Autobot leave, frowning and already calculating how this development would affect their plans, and how exactly he could turn in to his advantage.

x-x-x

The Autobot intercepted Onslaught as he left the rec room. His new transponder recognition protocols identified the mech, and Onslaught was familiar with the name. _Autobot second in command, tactician, competent. Good group tactics. Fond of multiple-prong attacks, but cautious. Prefers to strike from fortified positions._ "Prowl," he said, inclining his head slightly.

"Onslaught," Prowl greeted him. "I wish to speak with you regarding tactical applications of your team."

"I am at your disposal," Onslaught answered. He stepped back, letting the Autobot move around him and take the lead. 

"I assume that you're familiar with Hull-Down's theories of small unit tactics?" Prowl spoke as he walked. 

"Of course," Onslaught said. He knew very little about the mech off the battlefield, he realized. Tactical intel gave Onslaught a good idea of what orders Prowl would issue in a confrontation, but considering both the Autobot's position and his own, it may become imperative to know more. 

Silently, he pulled up a private comm channel. " _Vortex. I need intel on an Autobot._ "

_"Aw, come on, I'm busy,"_ Vortex came back immediately with a distinctly familiar—and completely fake—whine.

_Bored already?_ he thought in amusement. " _Give me everything you know about Prowl, and I will let you go back to your little games,_ " he said instead.

_"Yeah, yeah, sure... everything, or just the good stuff?_ "

_"I'll take the highlights,_ " he told the helicopter, absently answering a question from Prowl outloud.

_"Alright..."_ There was a pause as Vortex reviewed and analyzed his observations. _"Older mech, been in service at least as long as us. Been in tactics all of it, in command staff positions most of it. Don't think he likes bein' on top. Relies too much on his battlecomputer. Pfft, Paraxians. Won't improvise well, but he's good enough at dynamic tactics and his battlecomputer's fast enough that you ain't gonna be able to tell. Talkin' about corruption in the old regime'll annoy him, because he didn't have a problem with the way things were. Ain't good with people, but he's old enough that it don't bother him anymore. Keep it professional, he'll like that. You remember how the whole value-risk assessment goes; go with that. Get him emotionally upset, and I think his tactical abilities will cave. 'Course, he ain't gonna get emotional about, well, anything."_

_"How much danger does he pose to us?"_

_"For now, probably less than most. Keep a lid on it, and he'll get on with you great. Uh, keep Swindle away from him, though. That's just not gonna work out good for anyone."_ Vortex snickered at something. _"Most anyone. And probably Brawl, too."_

Onslaught decided that he really didn't need to know. _"How much of this did you get from the archive files and how much from seeing him for what, a breem in the hallway?"_

_"Some of it and some of it. I'm observant like that."_ Vortex sounded smug. 

_"How would you handle him?_ " Curiosity prompted him to ask more than a need for the information—Vortex's methods weren't his, and wouldn't help him.

_"Normally? Wouldn't. Yank the battlecomputer, straight hack, let cryptography handle it. Sure, he'd be fun to play with, but wouldn't get much from it. If I wanna break him..."_ Vortex laughed. _"I'd wanna be on his side, work on 'em for a few orns, slow-like, where he don't know I'm doin' it. Go from the inside out, get him to break himself down. Might turn, or more likely just off himself and save us the trouble."_

_"Don't get ideas,"_ Onslaught said dryly.

_"You sayin' that always gives me ideas,_ " Vortex said cheerfully. _"Anything else, or can I go back to fluffin' up this little rotary? Seriously, so naive it's adorable."_

_"Try not to maim anyone. Onslaught out._ " Onslaught nodded in response to Prowl's question. "Our function since our release has been largely as a strike team," he said, agreeing with Prowl's assessment. "Prior to our incarceration, under Shockwave, we operated differently-"


	4. Gathering Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Protectobots start feeling the strain, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker gather some intel, and Blast Off finds at least one Autobot who he doesn't feel the immediate need to shoot.

“Hey, Blades, where have you been?” First Aid greeted his brother with a warm smile. 

“Went flying,” Blades answered with an uncharacteristic grin back. 

“With the new guys?” Groove asked, curious. 

Blades offered one of his non-really-casual casual shrugs. “Yeah. Just a little trip around the volcano.”

“Heard some bad things about that helicopter,” Streetwise said cautiously. 

Blades huffed. “Yeah? So?”

“Just saying, be careful,” Streetwise said.

“He really didn't seem that bad to me,” First Aid said. “A little obnoxious, but not really _bad_.” He shifted. “Lonely, maybe. Onslaught, on the other hand...” First Aid touched his neck where Onslaught had grabbed him in the brig. 

“Streetwise is right,” Hot Spot said from the doorway. “From what Silverbolt's said, none of the officers trust Vortex or his team. We should be careful around all of the Combaticons.”

“What, we're listening to gossip, now?” Blades snorted. 

“We're staying on guard,” Hot Spot said. “That's all.”

Blades scowled, but didn't argue.

x-x-x

Trailbreaker was the only mech in the tactical room when Smokescreen arrived. That wasn't too surprising – they were both early for this little tactical exercise. “Hey, 'Breaker,” Smokescreen greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” Trailbreaker returned. “That was an interesting scene in the rec room yesterday,” he said as Smokescreen took the seat next to him. 

“I'm not sure if I should be impressed that the Combaticons are making an effort, or insulted that they think we're going to be taken in by that,” Smokescreen said wryly. Trailbreaker grimaced, but didn't look surprised by the assessment. So he'd caught on to the play acting, too. Good.

“I doubt it was for our benefit,” Trailbreaker said. “I'm not sure who they were angling for, but I'm glad you put a stop to it.”

“Only temporarily. Swindle's in it for the long con; I doubt I did more than set him back a little.” Smokescreen shook his head. “Honestly, I can't blame the for it. Stuck with a bunch of mechs who were your enemies a few days ago? I'd be trying to find allies, too. But Fireflight doesn't need caught up with someone like them.”

“I'd rather _none_ of us get caught up in their games,” Trailbreaker said grimly. “I admit, I was surprised to see them picking a fight with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; I would have expected Swindle to aim at getting those two as allies.”

“The Combaticons don't have what it takes to win them over,” Smokescreen said. “I doubt there's a self-sacrificing servo among the lot. Whether they realize that or Sunstreaker's temper was just convenient, I don't know.” Smokescreen leaned back, considering. “And I'm not sure Swindle was the brains behind that one. The con's his game, but it just doesn't seem like his play.”

Trailbreaker cocked his head. “Think this was one of Onslaught's plans? He doesn't strike me as the kind to wage that kind of psychological warfare.”

“Me either. And none of the other three really seem the kind to plan anything.” Smokescreen shrugged his doors. “I don't know. We'll just have to keep an optic on them, and try to keep any damage to a minimum.”

The door hissed open, and Prowl stepped in, followed by Onslaught's towering bulk. “Ah, good, you're already here. Today I wish to run a test simulation-”

Smokescreen listened with half an audio to Prowl outlining the tactical exercise, his processors focused on the real tactical problem – what were the Combaticons up to, and what exactly should he do about it?

x-x-x

“How long have they been in there?” Hot Spot asked, tilting his head toward the tactical room.

Silverbolt made a face. “Since before the start of last shift. Makes me glad I'm a team leader, not a tactician.”

“Heh, that might not save you. Onslaught's a team leader _and_ a tactician,” Hot Spot teased, grinning. “Command might catch on to the multitasking idea.”

Silverbot mock-shuddered. “Don't even joke about that. There's not enough hours in a day for both jobs.”

“Onslaught manages it somehow.” 

“His team's crazy. Maybe that helps.”

“In that case,” Hot Spot said, unable to resist the opening, “You're on the right track for joining him.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Silverbolt shoved Hot Spot playfully. “How'd that talk with Blades and the rest go?”

Hot Spot shook his head. “About as well as you guessed it would. You'd think I was asking him to kick a puppy, not just _be careful._ ” He vented air. “Worse, First Aid's on his side. At least Streetwise has some sense.”

“Maybe he'll talk the others around.” 

Hot Spot frowned. “I hope so. Blades decided to go flying with Vortex again. I'm half-afraid he's got a crush.”

“Blades?” Silverbolt asked blankly. “That'd be a shock.”

“Not really,” Hot Spot murmured. Blades put up a hard front, but his gestalt knew him better than that. “How are your guys taking all this?”

“Don't think any of them know what to think,” Silverbolt said wryly. “Fireflight and Air Raid want to make friends, but so far, they're listening to me. Skydive's got reservations, too.”

“What about Slingshot?” If any of the Aerials was likely to ignore Silverbolt, it was Slingshot. 

Silverbolt frowned. “I'm actually not really sure what Slingshot makes of it. He's been keeping quiet about it, and that worries me.”

Hot Spot clasped the jet's shoulder. “It'll work out,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

x-x-x

“Smokey!” Blaster called. “Hey there, TB! Smokey, that call you asked for's coming through. Got Springer on the line.”

“Springer?” Smokescreen asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, Kup said to pass it on to him, said he'd have the info you wanted.” 

“Come on,” Smokescreen said to Trailbreaker. “Time to stack the deck. Kup spent time in Freemark prison after the 'Cons took it and turned it into a prisoner of war camp. Onslaught was the district commander there, but Teletraan 1's records are pretty sketchy. Bad time for the Autobots, and with the Combaticons going under a short bit after and Freemark dismantled, getting info about it wasn't a priority.” Smokescreen's doors dipped. “I didn't realize that Springer was there.”

“Me either,” Trailbreaker said quietly, following him into the communication center. 

Smokescreen dropped into the chair in front of the monitor, calling up the waiting transmission feed. Static cleared, and Springer grinned at him. “Smokes! Long time no see. Kup said you needed to talk to me?”

“It's good to see you in one piece, Springer. Yeah, we've got something of a situation here. I need to know everything you do about the Combaticons.”

Springer frowned. “Combaticons? I heard someone had broke them out, but why ask me? I haven't tangled with any of them since before they went head-to-head with Shockwave and lost.”

“That's what I need to know about. I asked Kup because he was in Freemark,” Smokescreen said. “I spent enough time matching wits with Swindle in the blackmarket, but I've got no experience with Onslaught, and even less with Vortex or the others. All we have is old military records, and they don't tell us much.”

Springer leaned back. “Alright. I'll tell you what I know, but I can't say that it's much. I only spent a few cycles in Freemark, and that was more than enough for me. Onslaught, I really don't know much about; he was military, I was security forces. I knew him by reputation -- competent commander, hardline Decepticon. Don't know slag about Brawl or Blast Off besides what's in the records, and you probably know more about Swindle than I do, but Vortex...” Springer shook his head. “Met him at Freemark. He was in charge. Nasty piece of work. I'd think twice about dealing with him at all if you can avoid it.”

“We can't,” Smokescreen said. “If we had time – and a more secure connection – I'd tell you the whole story, but we're stuck with them. What can you tell me about how Vortex operates? He was in charge? From what we've seen here, he doesn't seem the kind to stick to a flight plan, much less run a prison.”

“He's a sneaky, sadistic bastard, and a fraggin' good actor.” Springer looked offscreen, expression tight. “He'd grab two mechs at a time, question one, and hurt the other when they refuse to talk.” His voice stayed even, but Smokescreen could see how hard it was for his friend to say even that much. “Kept up a 'Just doin' my job' routine until I called him on it. Don't know where he would have gone from there; they transferred me out to Nova Cronum a few cycles after.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “He showed up when they were loading us onto the transport, told me he was _sorry_ for sending me to Nova Cronum. Then he spent the next few breems detailing exactly what it was he wanted to do to me, before telling me that before Shockwave was done with me, I'd be wishing to still be back in Freemark.” Springer looked down. “He was right on that one,” he admitted. 

“Frag,” Smokescreen said softly.

Springer offered a humorless smile. “So trust me, he can plan. He's fragging smart, and he knows how people tick.”

“I'm sorry, Springer.”

“Long time ago,” Springer said, managing something approximating his usual air of casual cheer. “I need to get back; war doesn't wait for chit chat.”

“Be careful out there, alright?”

“Hey, you know me.”

“I do, and that's the problem,” Smokescreen returned. 

“Hey, I got Kup out here watching my back.” Springer's expression turned serious again. “You watch yours, Smokey.”

“I will,” Smokescreen promised. “Smokescreen out.” He cut the transmission, and looked over at Trailbreaker. “Well.”

Trailbreaker's expression was grim. “I don't like this.”

“Me either.” Smokescreen leaned back, frowning thoughtfully. “Looks like the rumors fell short this time. _Frag_.”

Trailbreaker vented a sigh. “At least we know more than we did. We need to start making contingency plans.”

x-x-x

Slingshot scowled into his cube, fingers tapping on the rim. _Frag it._ He should just get up and go talk to him. Or maybe go back to his room and forget about the idiot helicopter and his new _other_ helicopter buddy. Either way, anything but sitting around and moping about it. _Pathetic, Slingshot. Real awesome._ The energon sloshed in the half-full cube as he toyed with it, unseeing.

“What the frag's got up your afterburners?” a familiar voice demanded. Blades leaned against the edge of the table in a pose somewhere between aggressive and concerned. 

“I don't got afterburners, afthead,” Slingshot snapped back automatically. He glanced up at his... whatever they were. “And you're the fragging problem.”

“Aw, thinking about me?” From someone else, it might have been sweet, but from Blades, it was just mocking.

“No, you're blocking my light, fragger.” Sure, he'd been thinking about the Protectobot, but he'd be smelted before he admitted it. “Sit down or get out.”

“Make me,” Blades shot back, but he slid into a seat anyway. 

“Whatever. What, misplace your tagalong twin? I was starting to think you two were welded at the hip.”

Blades huffed. “Why is everyone making a big deal out of this? So what, I went flying with another helicopter. Big whoop.” 

“Yeah, you went 'flying,'” Slingshot made air quotes. “If that's what they're calling it these days.” 

“Frag off! We did!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Slingshot said sourly. 

“What, jealous?” Blades' laugh faltered when Slingshot didn't retort, the jet staring blankly at the table. “You are, aren't you?” he said, softer.

“Of what?” Slingshot snorted, but didn't quite meet Blades' optics. “You whirligigs go have fun buzzing around the mountain.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “I've got things to do.”

Blades watched him leave, rotors slumped. 

When Blades met up with Vortex a few breems later, he hadn't quite managed to lose the shellshocked expression.

“Hey, what's up?” Vortex asked, tapping the nearest rotor. “You're off in la-la-land today.”

“Nothing,” Blades said automatically, then frowned. Who else could he talk to? “You ever had a sort of friends-with-benefits situation suddenly get serious?”

“Friends with benefits?” Vortex repeated, amused. “Like what, casual interfacing with a buddy?”

“Yes. Well, no, more of an enemy. Kinda.” Blades rubbed a hand over his face. “Frag it, I don't know.”

“You don't know if he's a friend or an enemy?” Vortex asked, cocking his head and dipping a rotor. “Weird.”

“He's... well, we're not really friends, and we're always fighting, but it's fun, y'know? Like, a good challenge. But now he's... I don't know,” he said again, rotor blades dipping. 

“No, I can't say I ever had a casual-interfacing friend-not-friend-sorta-fightin' relationship suddenly get serious,” Vortex said blandly, leaning back against the cliff face. “I got Blast Off, the touchiest untouchy shuttle ever, but I don't think that's quite whatcha getting' at.”

Blades snorted a laugh. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.” 

“It sounded pretty ridiculous when you said it, too,” Vortex informed him cheerfully. “So, you like him?”

“What?” Blades stared.

“The friend-not-friend. You like him?”

Blades scuffed a foot against the ground. “I... yeah,” he said in a small voice.

“Then what's the problem? Get him.” Vortex shook his head. “Frag what anyone else thinks. Go for it.” 

“But...” Blades looked up at the other helicopter uncertainly. “What if... what if he says no?”

“Punch him in the face.” Vortex's rotors bobbed cheerfully. 

Surprised, Blades couldn't help but laugh. “How is that helpful?”

“Helpful? Who said anything about helpful? It'd be fraggin' funny, that's what it'd be.” Vortex tapped a finger against his battlemask. “Whatcha got to lose, anyway? Sometimes you just gotta take off without checkin' the landin' zone, y'know?”

“Maybe,” Blades said, shifting his weight.

“Maybe my fraggin' aft. C'mon, let's take a spin.” Vortex canted a rotor towards the exit.

“Not today,” Blades answered. “I'm... I'm gonna go talk to Slings, alright?”

“Sure,” Vortex agreed easily. “I'll catch you later, eh?”

Blades nodded, distracted. Just go for it – it sounded so much easier when Vortex was saying it. For once in his life, Blades was utterly at lost at what to do next. _Start by finding him, idiot._ He vented air, steeling himself before striding toward the hanger the Aerials had claimed as quarters. 

He made it halfway there before he lost his nerve. _Maybe this isn't a good time. Give him some time to cool off from that scene in the rec room._ He wasn't running away, he was just delaying. Yeah. He'd... talk to Slingshot later.

x-x-x

“Hey, Thrusters!” Vortex called as he rounded the corner to the lower hanger bay. “I got ditched by my entertainment. Come console a lonely helicopter?”

Blast Off looked up from his datapad, not bothering to move from where he was lounging with his feet up on an empty crate. “No.”

“Oh, come on, please?” Vortex wasn't put off by the short answer. “Whatcha been up to down here?” 

“Reading.” 

Vortex rolled his rotors in an exasperated gesture. “Frag, we get to a whole base full of people to play with, and you gonna hide in the hanger and what, _read_ for the rest of the war?” 

“And if I do?” Blast Off asked archly, turning back to the datapad. 

The helicopter made a rude noise and headed for the opposite door. “Brawlie outside?”

“Who cares?”

“Eh, point, but since you're bein' all stick-up-the-exhaust, I gotta have someone to bother.” Vortex strolled through the open hanger doors. “Brawlie! You out here?”

“Ever heard of using a comlink?” Blast Off growled at his back. As he expected, Vortex ignored him. 

So much for peace and quiet. With Brawl and Vortex just outside, the screaming and explosions were next. 

Movement at the door Vortex had entered through soured his mood further. He hadn't been hiding, per se, but the lack of traffic in the bay _had_ been the major motivating factor for coming down here. But instead of another of his infuriating teammates or one of the annoying little cars, the Autobot's shuttle ducked through the doorway. Shuttles, as a rule didn't tend to seek each other out to socialize the way groundframes did; shuttles were designed to spend long periods alone in space, with just the stars and their scanners for company. Hopefully, the Autobot shuttle fell into type, and wasn't here to ask inane questions about how he was integrating.

“Blast Off,” Skyfire greeted. “I will be going orbital later – if you don't mind being ferried up, Optimus has signed off on the extra fuel to bring you along.” The other shuttle smiled faintly. “I presume you'd like to get out of atmosphere for a while?”

Well, that was certainly better than sitting down here and ignoring idiot groundpounders. As a rule, he preferred to fly himself up, but right now, he would take what he could get. “Certainly. When will we launch?” Frankly, he'd stay orbital all the time if he could convince Onslaught that the fuel expenditure would be worth it – and now, convince the Autobots that he could be trusted alone for that length of time.

Skyfire gave him the launch and return time frame and took himself off again without insisting on puerile small-talk. 

Well. At least one his new “allies” had a sense of decorum.


End file.
